The Ring of Standing Stones
by Placidmage
Summary: AU, 2+1. Heero is a 'slayer' sent on a mission to find the source of the demons that have been appearing and to stop it. It is harder than expected when the source is a familiar, braided...enemy?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Okay. . . I own nothing; not Gundam Wing, not anything! Thank you.  
  
A/N- I've been getting some serious writer's block on my other fics, so I sat down to start writing this a while ago, and I thought I might share it . . . but not because I'm looking forward to the many large objects that I will probably hurl at my head for not working on my other stories. This is based on a song, but it's not really a songfic. In any case, you've never heard it, I can almost guarantee. I don't own it, either.  
  
Warnings: I've changed the names within the song to match the Gundam Wing characters. AU, OOC, 1+2, implied 3+4.  
  
******************corresponding verses to this chapter*********************  
  
From "Malon's Bridge" By Mustard's Retreat  
  
"Now there's a tale I'm after singin' that my grandpa used to tell  
  
He said 'twas to enlighten me and chasten me as well  
  
You may laugh about your elders when the sun is shining bright  
  
But be sure you're on the Christian side of Zechs' bridge tonight"  
  
*****************************************  
  
Begin:  
  
"Eyah!" Wufei yelled into the air as he took a second swing at the demon, and upon hitting the ghost-like decoy, it vanished into thin air. He was silent a moment as he brought down his katana, still in attack position, awaiting its return from the undergrowth, but nothing came. He gritted his teeth angrily, "Dammit Yuy!"  
  
His partner back at him and 'Hn'ed quickly before continuing to examine the stone he had been looking at the past ten minutes more carefully.  
  
"That -thing-'s going to come back any minute now if we don't get out of here." The Chinese boy hissed. Neither one of them was accustomed to working with another slayer, but it seemed the only solution right about now. The demons were becoming more numerous than ever, and it was just their luck to have run into each other days ago. "This obsession with your stone is ridiculous. We need to get moving!"  
  
The second cloaked young man then stood up, and had Wufei been able to see his eyes, they would have certainly been glaring at him. "And where would you have us go?"  
  
Wufei stopped in his tracks loosening his grip on his katana in surprise at the question before gripping it tighter. Yuy had won, and smirked mentally at his accomplishment before going back to the stone.  
  
"Aren't you finished?" Wufei grew impatient, crossing his arms within the folds of the dark cloak. Heero chose to ignore him.  
  
"We have to take it to J." Heero decided, looking once more at the object in hand before pocketing it. It barely fit across his thumb, and still, there had to be something significant about it.  
  
"Whatever for?!" Wufei protested quickly, "We only need to follow the road! It will lead us to where we have to go. You yourself said so."  
  
"Fine then, Chang" Heero said acutely and the Chinese boy softened slightly at Heero's informal address, "WE won't take it to J. . . YOU will." Heero emphasized, slipping the stone out of his pocket and tossing it over to the wide eyes that said you-can't-be-serious. Wufei caught the stone and looked at it a second before turning up into Heero's face angrily.  
  
"This is an injustice, Yuy!" the slayer retorted, "This . . . this . . . ~pebble~ has nothing to do with the demons!"  
  
"Then why do we always seem to find the same exact one every time we come in contact with a demon. This one has an ancient writing on it, see for yourself." Wufei looked down into his hands and turned the stone over to the quartz side, where it clearly had a message written in flowing black ink, but he was obviously no better fit to read it than Heero was. "The enemy wants to give us a message. Finding out what it says could be crucial to the mission, but so is us following the road, as you said."  
  
Heero looked ahead to the stretch of dirt path ahead of him before turning back to Wufei, asking the silent question. Would he take it to J? No doubt the scientist would be able to give them both the information they needed, but it was a question of trust between slayers.  
  
"Fine." Wufei slid his katana into its scabbard and tied the stone carefully into his robes before turning back around the way they came. They couldn't afford to be mistrusting, not when it had come to this.  
  
"Meet me at the village across the river White." Heero muttered after his fellow slayer, who raised the back of his hand as he walked away to show that he had heard. Heero went back to the road.  
  
It would seem longer without a companion at his side. And it was cold. That's one thing he could always be certain of. Whether it was the temperature or the loneliness he felt, it was chilling whatever warmth was left in him to the bone. Of course, he was not sure how long he had been walking the long road, but it was long past sunset, and night's depth was growing upon him. Those days, it wasn't safe to be found on the streets in the dark; it still isn't. There's no telling what evil might become you.  
  
The shadows here have always held many secrets, unknown to outsiders, of course, but that's what slayers are for. He did not hope to ever have to guess, but upon nightfall, the shivers come unwanted and he was almost fearful . . . almost. He was never afraid of anything in his life. He couldn't afford to be. It is inefficient.  
  
Years ago he started down these roads on orders, stopping at inns, following the ghosts no one else could see, with the exception of Wufei. They all led him down this road, so it was best to give in and follow it. His orders were not specific. Hn . . . he was supposed to know his mission, already. Given, he was a slayer, just as they taught him, so they shouldn't have to give directions. If they tried to give them, he'd probably just throw them back in their face, anyway. There are demons lurking around every corner, but nearly no one knows. It's a slayer's job to make it stay that way, and that's why he'll always be cold.  
  
The light shone through the trees up ahead, and Heero looked out from underneath his hood, and pressed on. The wind whipped through his heavy cloak, making it feel paper-thin, but he was trained to overcome such feelings of weakness. It was good that his travels would be over for the day soon enough, he thought, rounding the corner to face the oil lamp straight on. It was a very quaint establishment, and Heero wanted to press further to where he had thought he would be able to reach before nightfall, but something caught his eye. Smoke. Smoke was dithering up from the chimney, and where there was a fire, there was warmth. There was nothing that Heero wouldn't give to be warm again.  
  
It was then that he noticed the house's surroundings and the direction in which the road was headed. Just across the way of the house stood a church, seemingly abandoned, and just a few yards further down was the river White. He had expected to come upon it in a few days time. It was good he had come so soon, but past the beginning to the stone bridge, he could not strained to see.  
  
As Heero strained his eyes to press forward, a bit of wet dirt dust kicked up from the road and into his face. He dared not spit it out, and simply staggered to the door of the quaint, smoke-filled house, and upon hearing faint voices through the wind from inside, he pushed open the door, allowing light to shine into his weary features. The voices rang out clearer.  
  
". . . well, I'm not going to be quite frank. I don't believe a word. Stones? Legends? Devils? The poor man's had one too many glasses of ale." The male voice paused as if finishing a train of thought, "We'd better let him do as he pleases, though, because you know how the--" Heero pushed the door open a bit farther revealing a curious blonde boy who softened his surprised eyes upon his entering and smiled cheerily "Well, hullo . . . we're closed for tonight."  
  
"Forgive my intrusion," The slayer pulled back his hood before taking a step in, and blue eyes glared quite intentionally at the two young men in the small house. It looked like they ran a small restaurant by day, the way the two were gathering up dishes in the armful that littered the tables. Well, it was actually just the fair-haired boy who was gathering the dishes. The other, quite silent as it seemed to Heero, was busy tending to the fireplace. His only distinguishing mark were the long brown bangs that hung from his head, gracefully covering his left eye as soon as he looked anyone straight in the face.  
  
The ashes littered the slate underneath as the young man prodded the remaining bit of the log with an iron poker before putting it back on the rack. A brief moment of silence passed between the unusually-banged boy as he stood to face the slayer, both steady competitors for who could act more like a rock. The unannounced competition was quickly doused by a sigh from across the room as the blonde put his dishes down to greet the stranger, who had evidently no intent on a quiet leave.  
  
Heero fidgeted unnervingly.  
  
"Don't mind Trowa," the smile faded slightly, ". . .but please come in and sit. You look dreadful." As the slayer took a step in, he stopped sharply to move his eyes to the blonde, who had whipped out a tray of muffins without speaking, "I do hope you're hungry! They're fresh out of the oven. Go ahead. Try one." He said, quickly looking back at Trowa with a teasing pout, "You'd better have one, too."  
  
Both stoic boys raised their eyebrows at the gesture, and Trowa quickly took a muffin anyway. What could it hurt, right? Heero stood there, glaring suspiciously at the two. They certainly weren't demons, but . . . this was certainly odd. All the decoy ghosts he had sighted up to this point had pointed him down this road, and for what? So that he could eat a blueberry muffin? The long-banged one seemed to be enjoying it thoroughly, but that wasn't the point.  
  
"My name is Heero Yuy." The slayer announced, narrowing his eyes further if possible. They were already pretty narrow from his war-of-the-glares with Trowa. He had won, of course, but that didn't change the facts. The blonde opened his eyes wide with apology at the admittance.  
  
"I am sorry; I forgot we hadn't already met. My name's Quatre Raberba Winner, and this is my - - friend, Trowa Barton." He motioned the young man who nodded at Heero before taking another hearty bite out of the muffin as he went back to attending the fire. There was a minute of silence as even Quatre was afraid of saying the wrong thing.  
  
"What were you saying about stones?" Heero recalled the blonde's earlier mentioning as he came in the door. The very same boy stared at him a second in dull comprehension, not that he was slow, but only he had other things on his mind. Like how distant Trowa seemed lately . . .  
  
"Oh!" Quatre cheered up a bit upon recollection, "That was just old Dr. G . . . been at the ale again. He came in today going-on about an old legend in the village." He gathered some of the dishes in a pile as he talked. The slayer took hesitant steps forward, edging him forward. This could be the answer, but then the blonde let out a jovial laugh "Silly elders and their stories, but don't take them too seriously," Quatre picked a dirty spoon and held it to Heero's nose a little less-than-threateningly, "Fear can do things to people."  
  
'You're right' Heero thought to himself, 'but that is not what I am protecting people from. They have to do -that- on their own.' "Do you know the legend?"  
  
Quatre blinked, "No, not really," he turned to Trowa, who sighed heavily.  
  
"I am afraid I do not know much of this legend either." The long-banged one spoke at last, "But I can tell you that it's no legend." Quatre opened his eyes wide at this statement, and Heero, who rarely showed any emotion, could have been seen to twitch his eyebrow ever so slightly.  
  
"You've seen the bridge to cross the river White?" Trowa asked expressionlessly of the slayer who nodded, "But have not seen the other side, correct?" Heero nodded once more. "There is a cemetery immediately across the bridge . . ."  
  
"But there's a cemetery here at the church!" Quatre protested immediately. Trowa shook his head.  
  
"It's not that kind of cemetery." Trowa turned to the fire, eager to change the subject, and quickly doused the flame with a little water to dampen the logs. He turned to the two on-lookers who were still eager to hear the rest of the story, "The hour grows late."  
  
The slayer at first showed the faintest hint of surprise before understanding what this implied for him, and took up his hood to venture outside.  
  
"It would not be wise to cross the bridge after midnight." Trowa stated plainly, "You'd best stay with us till daylight. Is there an extra room Quatre?"  
  
"Hmm?" The blond looked up from his daydream, "Not that I recall, but I could always set up a- -"  
  
"Heero can have my room if he pleases," Trowa said, "The bridge is not safe when the sun goes down."  
  
Quatre looked surprised at Trowa for a moment before thinking about the last time Trowa didn't have a room and smiled slightly, "Of course." Heero looked at the two who passed silent glances at each other, and would have smiled, had he been any normal person, but he was as grateful for their kindness as one with so little emotion could stand to be.  
  
"Thank you." The slayer drew his cloak off before being ushered into Trowa's room, where he sat down to think a while. So this is where his travels had led him . . . muffins and a cemetery. He chuckled mentally. Years of searching, and he finally has found his enemy. Some enemy . . .  
  
Heero flopped back onto Trowa's bed, staring at the ceiling.  
  
. . . And here he was, swathing himself from it. He felt like he deserved it after all these years, but then again, what was he afraid of? This one true enemy must be something to be trifled with if it had control over all the other demons that had led him straight on this path. Heero felt his gun quietly sitting in his back pocket.  
  
Heero might have been hiding, but that doesn't mean that the slayer wasn't ready.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Heero woke to the wind that shattered against what he assumed was his windowpane, and then through it, sending shivers through his spine as it wrestled with his covers. It wasn't until then that he realized that this was no dream.  
  
The slayer jumped from the bed, gun inclined at the open window as he approached to close it. He looked out the window cautiously, and narrowed his eyes at the darkness, so that if it had been living, it would have cowered in fear . . . or maybe it would have just laughed in amusement . . . which is what it seemed to do, oddly enough.  
  
Heero closed the window abruptly at the chuckling darkness, although it seemed in vain, because as soon as the window was closed it began again in even sharper intervals, jubilant at every moment of the slayer's frustration. And that's what it was, like the happiness of a child, specifically a child who was a boy and had long since passed puberty. In any case it was laughing, and Heero clenched his teeth in anger as he didn't know where to point his gun. The voice was everywhere.  
  
And then it stopped, and started again just behind him. Heero spun around quickly, but obviously not quickly enough, for he was already caught between a smirking mouth and a tenacious grip on his arms, of which the gun had been mysteriously robbed.  
  
It took the slayer a moment to realize his loss before focusing on the features of his enemy. The smirk was the first thing he noticed, but he should have seen the sparkle in impish eyes that quickly formed a mouth to match.  
  
A pink tongue stuck out at Heero before the enemy let him go, spinning the slayer's own gun around his forefinger mischievously.  
  
"You didn't think that you would actually get away with this, did you? . . . cool gun." The figure added, still as he remained in the safety of darkness.  
  
"Who are you?" The slayer asked sternly.  
  
"Well, ex-cuuuuuu-se me." The young man stepped into the light of the moon from the window, and Heero was surprised to see his form, "I thought you would at least remember -that-." The demon rolled his eyes, catching Heero's gun from the clockwise spin in attack position, before tucking it into his other hand.  
  
It was the first time Heero really had a look at his enemy. . . and he looked. . . familiar?  
  
"But enough about me. . ." The slender young man took a perch on the windowsill, gliding down towards the edge, and peering down at the smaller being, and smirked superiorly, "What happened to those stones I gave you? Surely, you've noticed them."  
  
The demon . . . ? Have we met . . . ?  
  
This was a strange thing to think, especially because the features of the demon were so unique that it was very unlikely it would remind Heero of anyone, and yet it did. He would spend the first minutes after this moment tearing his hair out from where he had seen the demon before.  
  
He looked just his age, but how could that be? Just another trick, but perhaps . . . no, this was his true form. Heero squinted, making sure. Yes. There was no way this was an illusion. The demon looked exactly Heero's age, and human. Never mind the braid, no matter how beautiful, (Heero mentally noted) it was impossible to believe that this one demon could cause so much trouble for him and the other slayers. It was just impossible. Wasn't it?  
  
It was only a month ago when the demon decoys were being sent all over the countryside and the slayers couldn't figure out for the life of them who was behind it. Something told Heero this could be the one. He had even come upon Heero without arousing suspicion. This guy was good, and tricky. Heero would have been able to find any other demon in half the time.  
  
"Oh, come on." The young man waved a hand in front of the slayer's narrowing eyes, "I came all the way here for this?" He put his hands on his hips, containing the gun, and smirked, "What a joke."  
  
"I don't understand why you're doing this; sending your decoys to lead us on a wild chase across the country. What is it that you want from us?" Heero exploded, still confused by his own feelings. The demon could sense it and walked silently forward, putting a hand underneath the slayer's chin, his eyes saddening slightly, but still holding that devious smirk on his lips.  
  
The demon was hiding Heero from his feelings.  
  
Light shone on the demon as he advanced, and it almost seemed as if he was floating because the air stood still. The demon's violet eyes shone gray in the moonlight and flooded with hurt among his intimidating features. Heero's stood at attention, so it seemed, but his heart was racing. In argument, one might say he was afraid, but the slayer had never been afraid before.  
  
The seemingly young black-clad demon still had his cold hand gently slid under the slayer's chin. They were only a breath away. The chill of the cold, deathly flesh on his own might have sent shivers up Heero's spine, but he couldn't feel anything. It was like the demon wasn't even there, or perhaps he was just numbed with emotion and his senses were a little too fuzzy.  
  
"I want you to remember . . ." The demon said wistfully, bringing the flawless pale hand down from the side of Heero's cheek and flushing it aside to look up into the cobalt blue eyes that threatened silently, but were loud enough to make themselves known. The demon's chestnut braid and bangs swayed slightly as he took a sharp, graceful step backward from the slayer, and glanced behind him. It was true, the sun had already begun rising, and Heero watched as the demon narrowed his eyes at the lightened sky. Although it was still dark outside, Heero knew as well as any slayer that demons did not exist in physical form when the daylight came.  
  
"We'll meet again." The demon said in a low tenor, turning back to Heero from the window.  
  
"Why should I take your word?" Heero asked the demon, knowing that he did not have the upper hand. The demon could come to him any time at night that he pleased, and now that the enemy knew of his intentions, it would be easier to just kill him and run when Heero wasn't looking. The demon narrowed his eyes slightly at this comment, a little peeved that such a question of honor would have to come up between the two of them.  
  
"I may run and hide, but I never tell a lie." The demon's voice changed to being loud and defiant, from the wistfulness he showed before, as he faded, retreating slowly back into the darkness of the room. A new gust of wind came to pass through, confirming that the demon had exited through that very place from whence he came.  
  
Heero went to the open window to close it, and found his gun on the sill as the sun began to rise. He picked the weapon up and held it in his hand, the silver glistening from the moonlight. This was the very weapon he intended to kill the demon with, but the demon had given it back.  
  
"Hn . . . . Baka." Heero hissed, frustrated, to the gun. He would still be able to kill the demon, now, but he didn't want to anymore. That must be what the demon wanted, or he would never have given the weapon back. Or was it another strange message . . . but what could the message possibly be? It must be a trap.  
  
They were enemies; he, a demon, and Heero, a slayer. The mission always comes first, and the demon is always the enemy. But why, then, did he feel this way? Heero clenched the gun tighter in his hands.  
  
With that, Heero tucked the weapon into his clothes and who-knows- whereabouts, trying to focus his mind on other things. He was supposed to meet Wufei farther ahead on the road, but a night's rest wouldn't make much difference, he decided. The Chinese boy would arrive shortly to this quaint church town with the information they needed by sunrise. With any luck, he would meet the young man on the road, then.  
  
Yes, 'with any luck'. Heero Yuy was not yet a believer in destiny.  
  
********************************  
  
^_^ Thank you so much for reading!  
  
It's kind of confusing now, but there is a plot, promise!  
  
Please review if you like it so I know if I should continue! I'll warn you, though, there are 16 verses . . . meaning that if I continue, it's going to be long. Thank you! 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: You know the drill. I don't own Gundam Wing. . . or the song, which is Malon's Bridge by Mustard's Retreat.  
  
Note: I'm really sorry for taking so long to update, but I've had a really hard time writing lately. Anyway, I forgot most of what this story was going to be about (being an idiot and not writing any notes to myself), but I found a new direction that works, given what I wrote in the first chapter. . .after listening to the song about 20 times, of course. In any case, enjoy!  
  
**********************************************  
  
"The village church is strong and tall beside the river White  
  
And there, are buried decent folk who said their prayers at night  
  
But just across the river, there's a ring of standing stones  
  
And there are buried hatreds older far than human bones"  
  
***********************************************  
  
Continue:  
  
"You can't be serious." The irate one looked at the archeologist who grinned manically and handed back the stone.  
  
"Quite serious, I'm afraid." The man rustled through his papers as he found his place in his work once more, "There's nothing I can tell you."  
  
Wufei looked at their unhelpful leader who quickly went back to his research. He swelled with anger and his cheeks grew red with impatience. He didn't come all the way back to be told off again. The Chinese boy clenched his fists and put even more pressure on the stone. Flinging it into J's face, he began to rant.  
  
"Oh, for the love of Nataku!" He rolled his eyes, "I didn't come all the way here to have you tell me there was nothing to this stone. Yuy said you could help, and if he was wrong about something for once, then the world has come to an end . . ." Wufei looked back at J who was completely ignoring him. "Are you listening to me?"  
  
"No." The archeologist said plainly, snatching the stone from Wufei's hand and whipping out a magnifying glass to study it more carefully. The black- haired one could only stare at the action, giving a glimmer of hope. "Well, you know I don't know exactly what this means, but I recognize these symbols, I've seen them before . . . " J looked up for a minute into the surprised cobalt eyes before turning back to sound out the Greek, "anthanaton kakon. Yes, that's the one. I'm sure of it."  
  
"Athanaton kakon? (1)" Wufei raised an eyebrow, "What is that supposed to tell us? Where have you seen it before?"  
  
"Well, it's a phrase that I've seen once before, and I always thought it was referring to a devil of some sort, but now it seems to make sense," J paused, giving the young man a moment to slip from his frustration, "Being a slayer, you know more than the average about demons, correct?" The archaeologist looked from the stone once more, in almost sarcasm as he re- stated the obvious.  
  
Wufei nodded solemnly, nonetheless, a little less bored as the tension for the subject rose.  
  
"Well, then you're sure to know that -true- demons are rare and dangerous. You've probably never come across any in your entire life, I would guess, and if you have, it's a miracle you've survived. However, ghosts and 'fake' demons are very common, and are the main target of a slayer such as yourself," J gestured with his right hand before sighing, "Anyway, that's not really the point. The point is you have yourself a true demon, here."  
  
"How do you know?" Wufei asked quickly.  
  
"These inscriptions on your stone," J looked at it a moment, "Have been used in documented past to describe some sort of . . ." The archaeologist waved his hands in attempt to find the word, " . . . devil? I don't know . . . but the ignorance of people leads me to believe it was just a very troublesome demon. However, there is still one thing I don't understand."  
  
The archaeologist paused; looking puzzled a moment before casually glancing over his desk in search of something. Wufei watched on with impatience as the elder one took his time searching out the right book for the right reference.  
  
"Ahaa!" J announced, pointing his finger to the start of the paragraph, and clearing his throat to read, "This is a local text, written a little over a century ago, ' . . . The village beside the river White had suffered greatly in the years of the atanaton kakon. It is said that a human was creating a cover for the demon before they were betrayed by an accomplice. . . '" J drained off the last syllable, looking at the book once more as he skimmed the next sentence with his eyes. He shook his head as he shut the book.  
  
"So that means that this atanaton kakon was murdered, so it can't possibly be the demon we've been searching for. . . but why would these stones appear with his name?" The young man brainstormed.  
  
"Well, that's exactly what I don't understand." J wrinkled his forehead, "And why now after all those centuries gone by?"  
  
"What do you mean, 'you don't know'?! That's all you can say?! You don't know anything." Wufei looked once more at the stone, angered with impatience. "I don't have time to number the things I don't know, old man."  
  
"Sometimes knowing what you don't know is even more important than knowing what you do. Your impatience will cost you one day." J hissed.  
  
"Hmph," The slayer retorted sharply as he tied the stone back into his robes, "This was a complete waste of my time . . ." He muttered in annoyance as he turned his back on the archaeologist, who snorted a goodbye at the young man's obnoxious behavior.  
  
And with the farewell, the frustrated slayer made his way back down the road to meet Heero where he had said, 'The village across the river White', where, of course, Heero wasn't.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~  
  
"Heero?" There was a light tapping noise that penetrated the darkness of his eyelids. The slayer silently shifted his weight as he sat up before opening his eyes to the light that flooded in through the window. He squinted.  
  
"Heero?" The blond said quietly, slipping curiously through the doorway after a few small taps on the door. Seeing Heero was sitting up and awake, Quatre relaxed a little. Heero put a hand to his dizzied forehead, trying to calm the headache that was growing with his awareness. Was it just a dream? Quatre stepped closer, "I know you were up late last night, but it's nearly two in the afternoon."  
  
Heero widened his eyes in shock before jumping out of bed. He had fallen asleep in his clothes at about 5 in the morning after his little discussion with the demon, but he was supposed to be out on the road by now!  
  
By this time, Wufei would be long past this village and waiting for him across the bridge over the river White. Heero rushed past a startled Quatre. Who knows what Wufei could have gotten into while he was gone, and the way his week was going, he feared that trouble was ahead. Hn. Imagine that. (- - sarcasm)  
  
Running down the stairs and into the hallway leading to the front door, the disheveled young man was in mid-swing of the tavern door when . . .  
  
"Heero?" A voice rang out, and he turned to see Quatre who ran after him. "Where are you going?" He asked, hand slammed against the hall wall to stop him from falling, and looked out to the stoic young man who froze in his tracks, and apologetically closed the half-opened door.  
  
"I appreciate your hospitality, but I have to be leaving. There is some business I put aside in coming here." He raised cobalt blue eyes to the flaxen-haired one who looked a little puzzled as he walked down the stairs to the door. It was odd to find anyone passing by these days with 'business' to attend to. All the visitors they usually had were traveling because their village had been destroyed by those demons that had been appearing. Needless to say, no one was pressed to be anywhere.  
  
"You won't even. . ." Quatre paused, thinking about the morning cakes he had saved in the cellar for the special occasion that they did receive a visitor, ". . . stay for breakfast?" he asked meekly.  
  
"Quatre?" Heero turned to face the innkeeper with a dangerously serious face, and the smaller young man looked back at his tenant with surprise.  
  
"Yes, what is it, Heero?" He answered quickly.  
  
"That legend. . . it wouldn't have anything to do with a demon, would it?" He asked almost rhetorically, eager to understand just what that vision was . . . dream or not, it didn't matter. A demon could enter either one.  
  
"I believe it did, yes." The blonde answered with eyes still wide in surprise, "Why?"  
  
"I have to speak with Trowa." Heero walked forward with hesitation, "Please."  
  
Heero waited a moment. That word had never been easy for him to say, but it was times like these that it just came out upon instinct. Trowa had never finished telling the story the day before, and Heero would have been willing to bet anything the legend would connect to the demon who looked like a human. Whether or not this was the demon he had been looking for all these years didn't matter much. If the braided one was a demon, it was Heero's job to kill him, and prevent any future killings. With as much power as he witnessed the black-clad demon had, he must have caused the deaths of too many to count. Heero would not let anything he might have felt stop him from bringing the demon to justice. And if, indeed, the braided one was the monster he had been searching for, then all-the-better. His mission may be over sooner than he had expected.  
  
"Trowa is out cutting more wood for the fire," Quatre told him, "Is there anything in particular you wanted to discuss with me? I would be willing to listen." Heero smiled slightly at the curious offer, but he was sure that nothing the young man had to offer would help him in the least, but he was grateful for his kindness. Grateful. . .? Heero chuckled mentally at that. He must really be in a good mood to think such things.  
  
"How about breakfast?" Heero remembered the blonde's first offer, and the blue-green eyes brightened immediately at the notion.  
  
"I believe I could arrange that," He smiled, waltzing off to the cellar to dig for some of those breakfast cakes he'd been anxious to eat, but never really had a celebration to eat them for. A guest was celebration enough, he had already decided.  
  
Heero turned around to face the door, shaking his head, but still smiling in amusement. It was pretty insensitive of him to use his last resort distraction, but he needed to do something. Now that that was out of the way, he had to go find Trowa. The door was a bit heavy, and stuck to the bottom a little as Heero attempted to open it, but easily pushed it ajar and made his way out onto the stone steps in front. Listening around for the sound of a knife against wood, he followed a faint sound to his right. Coming into a clearing, he saw the taller boy kneeling next to a tree stump, on which he repeatedly placed small logs to cut them in half. Quite a pile had been accumulated, and Heero was almost afraid to distract the young man who seemed so focused on his work that the slightest disturbance might send the knife astray to cut something other than the wood.  
  
"What do you want?" Came the sudden phrase from the normally silent boy as he set another piece of wood upon the stump and cut it down the middle. Heero jumped slightly, as he didn't know his presence had been detected. "Well?" Trowa asked almost irritably, coming up off his knees, and making an attempt to wipe off the dirt that powdered his jeans.  
  
"I was wondering if you could tell me the legend," Heero said, in his usual, straight-forward way, and Trowa chuckled slightly. "What's so funny?" he asked, narrowing his eyes further.  
  
"I'm afraid, Mr. Heero Yuy, that this demon is one that even a slayer is powerless against." Trowa stopped, to look at Heero's face, which had become almost entirely pale in the process.  
  
Heero lost his breath in surprise, looking at the entirely expressionless face before him. No. Trowa couldn't know! How could he know? This entire slayers operation is supposed to be entirely secret the public. They aren't even supposed to know about demons, but the slayers have been slipping in the past couple of years, and they all knew it. Numbers had decreased tremendously. Trowa might be a slayer, Heero thought, but then why would he stay in one place? If he knows about this all-powerful demon, that both of them must have witnessed, shouldn't the rest of the slayers have been notified already so that they could stop him, together? It was almost too much information to take in.  
  
"How do you know I'm a slayer?" Heero commanded, "No one's supposed to know about us." Trowa turned away, throwing the knife into the stump with such force from above that it stuck there, halfway in. Seeming pleased, the silent one chose to ignore the question.  
  
"That demon. . ." he reminisced, turning and pausing his speech briefly to face the peeved Heero again, "I'm assuming he showed himself to you if he let you live," all Heero did to that was narrow his eyes further, but Trowa seemed content with this response as well, "He wants you to stay here. If you attempt to leave, now, he'll have to kill you. And don't think for a moment that you can best him. No one can. It's a terrible power he wields."  
  
Heero, at this point was able to control his patience, but he was still annoyed at the taller young man for making him seem like a fool.  
  
"That doesn't tell me anything. Are you a slayer or aren't you?" Heero demanded.  
  
"I used to be." He announced plainly, looking away. Everything changed when he came across this village. He knew there was something about it that no one, not even a slayer, could escape from, even by death, if the demon wished it so. That is what kept both him and Quatre from going outside this small village. It was a prison, though someone from the outside might not see it. Even Quatre hadn't realized it, yet. Now at least they would have some company. . . but what he could never understand is why the demon chose them, of all people who have passed through the town.  
  
"You are, then." Heero said after a moment's silence, "So what makes you think no one can best this demon?"  
  
"You don't get it, do you?" Trowa stated as a fact, "You're a prisoner, now that you've spent a night here. We all are. No one has made it past the bridge in years. You should just accept it. I could get Quatre to give you a job at the restaurant so you won't draw any suspicion. Just. . ." Trowa paused and bit his lip, ". . . don't say anything to Quatre. He doesn't know; it would only cause him pain, and he's happy here."  
  
Heero just stared at the young man who, insane as it sounded, seemed dead serious, and suddenly he understood, and burst into a cloud of anger. This couldn't be true. He'd never heard of anything like this ever happening, but at that moment, he started to understand entirely what Trowa had been telling him. He'd heard of such force-fields that were created by demons of immense power. . . usually so that the demon would be able to drain their life energy after enough energies had been caught in the web. That Trowa and Quatre had been living here for years gave him some assurance that no harm was meant for them . . . but then why then why in the world were they there?  
  
They . . . had something to remember . . . Heero narrowed his eyes, searching through the depths of his memory. There was absolutely nothing he could remember about anything to do with the demon, except that he had destroyed a hell of a lot of decoys to make it this far. That still didn't explain anything.  
  
"A prisoner. . . of that demon?" he clenched his teeth, "Is there no other way? Can't we tell anyone about this? They could help us escape." Heero said out of desperation.  
  
"That was something, and I've tried, but everyone just passed me off as a nutcase or a drunkard, and neither Quatre nor I have any relations that would or could help us." The long-banged one shrugged, "Besides, even if -you- do, the demon will know, and will most probably make sure they never make it here."  
  
**********************************  
  
"Damn, I'm late!" Wufei ran down the path, pushing the folds of his long, dark cape to one side as the wind blew it uncomfortably to one side. The sky was growing dark faster than usual, and he hadn't expected the wind to be so forceful. J had made him really late, and Wufei knew he would be the one to catch hell from Yuy later. What was even worse, though, was that the scientist hadn't told him a single thing about the stone, even though Wufei was fairly sure it was sent by the demon they had been searching for all this time, even if it wasn't the real anataton kakon, who had been dead for centuries.  
  
It was then that Wufei heard a rustling in the woods beside him, and he quickly stopped to unsheathe his katana, not wanting to be caught off guard. Looking around himself nervously, he stopped to look at the sky on the far horizon. It was sundown. He swore silently. Demons lined the path to the river White after sundown, and it would only delay his meeting with Heero.  
  
Sensing the demon presence behind him, the slayer turned his eyes to look over his shoulder sharply to find a rather gruesome decoy in the air, but within seconds his sword left it's attack stance to a swift, but lengthy jab through the mirage, at which point it disappeared upon impact. It only took Wufei a moment afterwards to realize that he was surrounded.  
  
He narrowed his eyes slightly in fear watered by pure determination. Decoy demons, although not truly of the demonic race, aren't a joke either. Up against a normal person, there is no doubt which would triumph, which is why the slayers are so important. Wufei had never been up against this many before, and he hoped he'd never have to be, but there was no turning back, now. If measured, the power of all the monsters combined might have been equal to almost half the power of the one true demon that was sure to have created them.  
  
As the demons closed in on Wufei, he felt his sword slipping from his fingers with the wetness that separated them, but he wiped his hand quickly on the dark cloth that surrounded him, and dove for the first demons that caught his eye, taking two out in one blow, while another two emerged from the forest to join the mob.  
  
Issuing the first blow, a dark blue ghostly demon ran its claws down Wufei's arm. The slayer yelled in frustration and in pain as he destroyed the demon that had injured him. Clasping his right shoulder with his left arm, he kept swinging, unable to do anything else at the moment, but for every blow he wasted, another demon entered the crowd.  
  
"Damn. . ." the young Chinese man hissed as the demons continued to strike his injured arm. He knew that he couldn't win this battle without this arm, but he continued to hold the sword, despite the pain it took to carry it. "Yuy . . ." he hissed in desperation as the sword was cut in two, both pieces flying from his hands as he was thrown to the ground. Picking up the nearest sword shard, he gripped it tighter, blind to the pain that came with it, "This is all . . .!" he screamed, attacking the closest demon, ". . . your fault!"  
  
*************************  
  
Heero stepped swiftly onto the dirt road without glancing back and looked to the woods from which Wufei should have come from. The slayer thought briefly how it would be best to go about telling his companion about his situation with the demon that they were supposed to destroy. It gave him shivers up his spine just thinking about the way the empty hand had touched his cheek as a gust of wind picked-up off the side of the river White. It felt just like that, cold and airy, as if a numbing cold had all the sudden been cast and melted from his entire body from his cheek down. Heero clenched his fist in frustration. Why did he think of such things? Surely it was the demon that made this memory haunt him . . . and yet there was something that he was supposed to remember. He couldn't shake it from his mind no matter how hard he tried. He was a prisoner of both worlds, mind and body. Heero narrowed his eyes; the demon would pay for this.  
  
"They won't come," Trowa descended the front steps with ease, as Heero jumped in surprise. When there was no response, Trowa continued, "Whoever you've been waiting for," he paused, getting a dangerous look from the other end, "They won't come."  
  
Upon the silence of the receiving end, Trowa decided it was an opportune moment to continue, "I talked to Quatre, and he said that you could run the bar, because it's been a little much for him lately, and he doesn't like alcohol, anyway."  
  
"What if I don't like alcohol?" Heero asked, almost rhetorically.  
  
"You don't have to stay here," Trowa returned the coldness, turning his back on the slayer, "You can sleep in the woods for all I care."  
  
"I'll go across the river White," Heero announced finally. Trowa stopped walking, but refused to turn around.  
  
"You'd be an idiot," the emotion was void in his voice, "You'd never make it across alive."  
  
"You never told me the rest of the legend." Heero told him, finally having caught his attention, and that caused Trowa to finally turn around. The tall boy had been inside with Quatre helping with the restaurant all day while Heero tried to find a way out of the demon's prison, against Trowa's advice. He'd found that he could not exit within approximately a mile radius from the inn, as Trowa had told him earlier. It was simply . . . impossible, as if a glass wall was built around the entire place, but according to Trowa, if he could pass over the bridge, the spell would be broken. However, he hadn't heard the entire story just yet.  
  
"The legend is not for you to know. It wouldn't change the facts. It would only make you angrier about our present situation," Trowa's footwork threatened walking away.  
  
"I thought we were going to get out of here!" Heero objected.  
  
"I'm perfectly happy here," Trowa answered, unmoved by the young man's protest, "It's late, and it's cold. You should come inside. You haven't eaten."  
  
Heero, standing firmly on the ground where he first was planted, made no notion to follow the other's advice. Trowa shrugged lightly as if to say 'suit yourself' and walked away without any regrets.  
  
Looking across, the river wasn't as deep as it was wide. In fact, it wasn't a very impressive river at all, Heero decided, peering over the edge of the entrance to the stone bridge. It had an ancient feel to it, and the edges at the bottom were worn away by water enough that he'd have guessed it was finished near a century ago. He couldn't see very far across the river, to the cemetery Trowa had told him was there. It was too foggy to see anything, really, except the shadows of stones that almost seemed to walk across the fog on the other side. They were gravestones, arranged in a circle, Heero strained to see, but there was something different about them.  
  
Besides from the eerie feeling that gathered into him from every side of the village and the wind that picked up off the water, swallowing him whole, there was still something else. Something that felt like a forced evil, a power wielded by hatred and fed on whispers of revenge inside that ring of standing stones.  
  
"You want to try and escape?" The demon whispered, and Heero felt the cold breath on his ear, turning around in fear he took a step backwards, only to find that he had stepped onto the bridge. "Don't be afraid," The black-clad demon smiled seductively, "I can help."  
  
"Who are you?" Heero asked as he had on their first meeting, regaining his composure as he stepped toward the demon, not that he needed to, really. The demon was making more advances then he could really handle at the moment.  
  
"Yeah," The demon made his way behind Heero somehow and took a perch on the bridge railing, "I didn't really expect anybody to remember me, anyway . . ." He waved his hand nonchalantly before taking his braid from behind and fiddling with the loose ends.  
  
Heero was a little angered that the demon refused to answer his questions directly, but he'd be getting that a lot lately so he decided he couldn't to let his anger cloud his judgment in the questions that he asked, so he turned his thoughts to something that should have been the first question he asked.  
  
"Where's Wufei?" Heero asked angrily. The demon, who had been staring at him with amusement as well as pleasure for the past minutes, sighed in defeat.  
  
"Well, he's not here, now, is he?" The demon noted tactfully, choosing to avoid the subject at hand. Upon seeing the anger this response instigated, he sighed in defeat, "I don't know, probably dead by now."  
  
"Why. . ." Heero hissed before he raised his voice, "Why would you want him dead?!" Heero screamed at the demon, and the words cut like a knife. It wasn't the words themselves, though. The demon stepped backwards, still looking into Heero's angry eyes as his own softened until he looked ready to cry. The pain on his face shone clearly as he lifted his left hand into the air and made a ceasing gesture, though it meant nothing to Heero.  
  
"That's. . ." The demon sat down, looking at his hands with guilt, ". . . all I can do, for now."  
  
A look of pain crossed the demon's face at the look of hatred on Heero's face softened. The demon, it seemed, had cancelled all attacks that he assumed had been made on his partner. This didn't make any sense. Why would the demon send them out if he was only going to stop them? This was behavior that no slayer expected from any demon, but on the other hand, Heero had never met any demon quite as powerful, so he supposed that it was normal for this one to be different, and he was thankful for the demon's sudden kindness, but. . . he was just very confused.  
  
"Why. . .?" Heero asked, almost as if upon instinct, and the demon looked up from his hands to Heero's eyes, and seeing that his actions had not gone unseen, he let out a little smile that was much purer than the smirk he had on before.  
  
"I. . ." he stood, still smiling, "I'm sorry, it's just. . ." the demon trailed of as he descended to the ground, his braid hovering a second before he reached the ground and began to walk forward until he was right at Heero's side. "I can get a little carried away, when don't get what I want."  
  
As the demon kept walking, Heero thought if he should ask him what he wanted, and turned around after a few seconds of thought, opening his mouth to speak, but the braided demon was nowhere to be found. Heero looked around in all directions that the demon could have gone, but it was no use. Demons of his power had the ability to disappear. He had seen it the night before, 'so why not now?' Heero asked himself sarcastically, as he gritted his teeth for about the fourth time that day.  
  
Kicking a stone, frustrated by his helplessness, into the water of the river White, Heero promised himself. Tomorrow, he promised, tomorrow I'll cross this bridge, and then they'll see. Hands stuck in the pockets of his cloak, Heero headed down the path back to the inn. Looking up to the door, he winced. He really didn't want to face Trowa right, now. The woods would be a much better choice, he decided easily. So, with that thought in mind, he found the clearing where he'd found Trowa . . . or rather Trowa had found him in earlier, and sat down to lean on a tree near the edge of the clearing.  
  
Watching the stump near the middle of the clearing, (making no noticeable movement, as could be predicted), Heero's eyes easily closed. Nodding off to sleep, one thing he didn't notice was the black figure that smiled at him from a distance and wished him goodnight.  
  
*********** yay! Umm . . . there is one footnote! ^^;; **********  
  
(1) 'athanaton kakon' is actually a real Greek phrase, not just a weird- sounding something that I might have made up off the top of my head. Not that I know Greek or anything, but I came across this phrase in something I was reading, and it means 'eternal evil'. I thought it sounded cool, and it kind of works, so I thought I'd use it. I hope no one minds.  
  
***********************  
  
Thanks so much for reading!! ^_^  
  
And special thanks to Emily Hato, Annie Maxwell, lora-helen, Hakumei, and Akasha-the-vampire for reviewing and encouraging me to write more! I really appreciate it, and I feel really bad that I couldn't get this out earlier. I'm really sorry, but thank you all, it means so much!! I'll try not to take so long with the next one!! 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This is the part where I get to give credit where credit is due. I did not think these wonderful characters up, and they aren't in my possession. Neither, by the way, is this song "Malon's Bridge" by Mustards Retreat (though I have changed Malon to Maxwell. Disregard the 'Zechs'' in the first chapter. You know. . . Duo. . . an' Zechs. . . they're just. . . ::scratches head:: so easy to confuse? ^^; Yeah, well it's a long story, but I'll just tell you I'm insane and leave it at that. I'm sorry; it won't happen again.)  
  
Head's up: More 3+4 this chapter, 2+1. . . and errr. . .descriptive injuries (?) and slightly OOC Heero  
  
Also, this chapter has an awful lot of information near the end. I tried not to make it too confusing, but I thought it was better to put it all into one chapter than to draw it out, because it would be easier this way. I will keep bringing up this information, so if you don't catch it this time around, I'll make sure you do later on.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
"And so the story grew among the elders and their wives  
  
And those who ventured over Maxwell's bridge after midnight  
  
For some were heard to scream and some were never found alive  
  
And some were rendered speechless after running for their lives.  
  
Well, me, I'm no believer in such stories as their told  
  
But things there are around us that can chill a heart so bold  
  
And never will I laugh again at grandpa and his ale  
  
For I have been across the bridge and lived to tell the tale."  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Continue:  
  
Quatre smiled contently as he let down the clean plates in a pile on the table nearest the kitchen. He would spread them out later. It was quite a task to turn the inn into a small eating place day-to-day. It didn't attract many people, either, so he didn't really know why he bothered, but it kept him occupied, in any case. Going into the kitchen to get the clean glasses, his eyes were drawn quickly to the counter with a second smile, of a different sort. Trowa must have slipped in while he wasn't looking. The taller young man always had little ways of showing he cared. Perhaps they weren't as direct as Quatre might have expected, but it was hard for Trowa to show his feelings. Quatre understood the message, though, as he looked in at the fresh-cut flowers, still wet with morning dew from the garden, that lay with their stems wrapped carefully in a dry towel on the counter.  
  
Reaching for the three-shelved cupboard above him on the wall, Quatre brought down a comfortably-sized, cream-colored vase. Rotating it to the left, he recalled the iris design that made its way up the side. Quatre never really had seen an iris, he noted this to himself as he poured some water into the vase, but Trowa had told him about them. Quatre had never really left this inn, this town, his whole life. Six years ago he inherited the house from his late father, because it was the only thing his father had left to give. At the age of ten, the young blond was managing the entire inn by himself. The legality of the situation didn't matter much; it was a common thing for parents to leave their children to finish what they had started, but most children would fail and ended up on the streets . . . but Quatre was far from the category of 'most children'. He caught onto his economic situation very quickly and made weekly trips to the store in the village about a mile away, carrying a weeks worth provisions back with him. He slaved to keep the inn in order, despite the cruel tendencies of his tenants. It became routine that a guest would get up early and leave before paying or that Quatre would ask and get beaten so badly he was unable to call for help. It was on one of those nights that he had met Trowa.  
  
It was three long years ago, but Quatre could still remember it vividly. That night, waking from unconsciousness, the first thing he remembered the broken dishes that should have been scattered all over the floor; he had been carrying those dishes when the man took a strike at him. Strong as he was as a person, he wasn't particularly strong when it came to physical fighting, especially since he refused to hit anyone back without good reason.  
  
Finally realizing his situation, he noticed that he was no longer on the floor, as he should have been. Suddenly afraid, he jerked his body to sit up too quickly, as he realized almost immediately his left ankle was bruised and elevated on a pillow. The blond closed his eyes again, only to open them again, startled by the footsteps coming into the room.  
  
A tall boy with long bangs walked in casually and asked him how he was feeling. It turned out that Trowa had been passing by the inn, but when he knocked there was no answer. It was raining so when Trowa noticed the door wasn't locked, he thought it would be alright to let himself in to find whoever ran the place. Since it was late at night, it wasn't unusual that the innkeeper did not answer door. However, seeing Quatre and the mess on the floor, obviously no accident, he came to the young man's aid without hesitation.  
  
Even though Quatre told the stranger several times over those six weeks that he would be fine on his own, Trowa refused to leave until Quatre's ankle had fully recovered. Quatre tried to make his way to the kitchen to cook and take care of the inn, but there was no way for the young man really to move, so his stubborn streak died after a couple of days. Trowa kept everything in order, though, and ran the inn every day just as Quatre had done for the past three years; he wasn't so generous as to let any customer leave without paying their bill, either. He told Quatre later that he wouldn't have done all that for just anyone. The truth was he had become much attached to and admiring of the young man. Quatre, in return, had slowly been enchanted by the taller one's silent kindness. So it had been that when Quatre's ankle healed, Trowa requested to stay a while longer. And from that request, Trowa had never really left.  
  
Over the past three years they had grown very close, and Quatre once asked what really kept Trowa tied down to this place. After all, Quatre had seen how skilled the taller young man was, and talented, too. There were so many things that he was sure Trowa could do. Of course, Quatre would have been crushed if his friend ever chose to leave the inn. Things had become so much brighter for him, and he used to always be afraid that things would go back to the way they were. It was so lonely. . . But Trowa had looked at Quatre and smiled at this question with words that he'll never forget, 'didn't you know? You're the reason I don't want to leave.'  
  
Quatre sighed happily at the memory, filling the vase with water. That was a long time ago, and it still rang in his mind with a fond and familiar melody. Placing the vase down on the counter, he took the flowers in hand and arranged them with care inside the small vase, struggling to find space for the last stem of Leander rose.  
  
Just as he was stepping away from the display, Quatre noticed a slow, labored tapping echoed slightly through the hallway from the front door to the inn. The blond widened his eyes slightly in hearing someone so early. Abandoning the flowers, he walked to the door as the knocks became slightly heavier and more frequent.  
  
"In a minute," Quatre raised his voice slightly so it would carry through the door as he unbarred it swiftly, but left the chain at the top and peered through the crack it allowed. Certainly he would not let even one escape becoming victim to his hospitality, but the rumors of demons, (even though he thought deep down they were just figments of people's imaginations) , made him take the extra caution.  
  
"Oh my god. . ." the blond flung open the door, looking down at the black cloaked figure that held heavy breaths and a hunch as he glued his eyes to the steps almost desperately. Sweat of struggling with pain skimmed some blood off his face wounds, leaving diluted red streaks as they made their way down his cheeks. Looking up between breaths, he saw a face blur under his gaze. The young man, slightly delusional from blood loss, smiled slightly in relief at the petrified face before gagging a cough weakly. Blood from the bottom of the stranger's throat somehow found its way up nevertheless along with whatever he didn't eat for breakfast.  
  
"Get m-me a. . ." the black-haired young man winced, ". . . doctor, goddammit!" he staggered. Quatre, who apparently had been holding a tenacious grip on the side of the door so hard his knuckles were white as snow, released his hand to give an arm to the stranger.  
  
"Tro-. . .?" He whispered beneath his breath before realizing this was not at all a time for whispers, "TROWA?!" He called as loud as possible. Flinging the stranger's arm around his shoulders, the blond noticed the black cloak had hidden more than it let on. The entire side surrounding the young man's right arm was soaked in dark red blood that stained Quatre's white shirt in a dark red print all along the side. Stumbling into the kitchen, the innkeeper somehow was able to seat the young man in a chair steadily, and immediately began to pull away at the black covering around the stranger's right arm. Quatre's face blanched at the sight before him and widened his eyes in sympathy and surprise.  
  
"I've never seen anything like this before; these are no ordinary wounds," Quatre mumbled to himself as he prepared to make a run for the alcohol and bandages.  
  
". . .demons." The black-haired one breathed through his clenched teeth at the comment, turning the blond's head almost immediately. Quatre took this to be a side-effect of the blood loss, and disregarded his words, but played along with it to ease his nerves. And certainly, that was partly right. The slayer would have never given this information to anyone had he been in the right state of mind.  
  
Quatre fretted nervously as his hands shook in taking the bandages from the cupboard and made his way downstairs. The worst thing the young man could do at this point was to loose consciousness. There might not be any hope for him, then, and at least conversation might help. Quatre would have liked to say that this stranger was the only one ever to have come to his door seeking medical help. He guessed that since they were the only inhabited place for a few miles 'round, that it was a crucial role for them to provide aid to all those injured when there is no where else to go. Still. . . demons?  
  
"Get him some water!" Trowa said from behind, catching Quatre by surprise. He was so nervous; the young man hadn't even heard him approaching. Trowa sat down and began to unwrap the bandage that Quatre had warily placed there and looked unnaturally shocked at what he saw.  
  
"Get some water!" He commanded, not once looking into Quatre's eyes. Instead the long-banged boy rolled up his sleeves messily. Only when he didn't hear movement of feet to do what he asked did he look up at the turquoise eyes in a glance of utmost urgency.  
  
Quatre nodded immediately, gulping down dry saliva as he backed away from the scene, breaking into a run as he reached the door. The well wasn't so far, but Trowa had acted as if it were important, not for him to get the water, but for him to leave. Quatre had the feeling there was a secret that he wasn't being told. There was something very wrong about all of this, but despite his predictions, he held steadfast to his trust in the young man who had always shown him kindness. He would be told eventually. He trusted in that, and without further question, went to fetch the water from the well.  
  
Trowa knelt beside the black-haired young man, examining the wound.  
  
"How many were there?" Trowa stressed as he tore a large strip off the roll of thin bandages and doubled it twice to create four layers.  
  
"I don't know. . ." the slayer trailed off, numb to most of the pain that came with the application of the bandage, "maybe forty, fifty. . . I lost track once they disabled my right arm." Stopping for a second, the injured young man realized just the meaning of the question his second rescuer had asked. "You're. . . you're a. . ."  
  
"I -was- a slayer, yes." Trowa announced emotionlessly, still wrapping the thick bandage, and the blood seeping through despite his efforts, "But that is not what I needed to tell you. You must not stay here, despite what Quatre tells you, or anything else. This place is cursed. I will see to it that you get transportation out of town, but you have to trust me. You shouldn't talk either. You'll pass out."  
  
The young black-haired man narrowed his eyebrows even further, knowing the 'odd-haired one' (or so he had thought in his state of anemia) was right in the thought that he shouldn't talk, but refusing to let him be right was a hard thing altogether, especially if you couldn't talk.  
  
"Cursed?" He managed to say. Trowa glared dangerously. He told the stranger not to speak for a reason. He was teetering with death.  
  
"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to shut up," Trowa looked at the silent stranger who struggled with his injuries to keep from screaming in pain, and decided to continue, "There is a demon . . . a very powerful demon, who curses this place. Hundreds of years ago he lived in this village, trying to pretend he was human with the help of true human. Apparently he was found out and the story is they killed him and the one who helped hide his identity. They buried the demon on the other side of the river White with a spell to keep his soul within his grave of a ring of standing stones for all eternity. I don't know why but he's keeping us trapped but I suppose it has something to do with--"  
  
Trowa stopped immediately as Quatre walked in the door with the water that had been commanded of him and placed it upon the counter. He looked disapprovingly at the two, as if he was being left out of something, but made sure to include that it was quite alright with him in his gaze, but Trowa could see better. He knew it made the blond feel that he did not trust him, but that wasn't at all true.  
  
"Thank you," Trowa smiled warmly, touching the smaller man's hand with affection. "I'm sorry. We'll talk later."  
  
"It's alright Trowa, you don't have to tell me," Quatre said, meaning to be helpful, but it only made it worse for the tall ex-slayer. He hadn't meant talk to tell Quatre anything, but now it almost made that an obligation. How would he explain what had happened in a way his love could understand without being hurt? . . . He thought this for a second, but quickly realized there was no way Quatre could not be hurt by what he had to say. That was his fault.  
  
Trowa nodded, looking at the black-haired man who struggled to stay awake on the chair. The blood had already begun to soak the bandages. The slayer was very strong to have held out this long, but he'd have to be stronger than that to stay alive. Trowa might have known these wounds would not respond well to bandages, but there was only a small chance he had been stung with their venom. Some demons, once they inflict a wound, even after their death, every time a wound closes, the demon spirit would keep it open and bleeding until the victim's death. But that's what the water was for.  
  
"Quatre, keep him awake, please. I'm going to prepare the water. Change his bandages if you need to," Trowa poured the water into an iron pot and added a few more logs to the wood stove, bringing the fire to a slow boil along with the water. Going outside, Trowa quickly picked a few choice herbs and added them to the mixture. Someone looking in might think the choices were completely random, but Trowa was skilled as an apothecary. It was one of the trades he had learned on his travels as a slayer. The thing about demons is that most of them are lazy. Once they injure an opponent, they figure it will die and leave it alone. Few people are ever killed by demons; most people who come in contact with a demon die a while after they are injured. Trowa saved the lives of many people in his days as a slayer. It was one of the reasons he was so eager to give up the name. As a slayer all one would do is kill, but he didn't want to kill. Trowa wanted to heal.  
  
Sifting off a portion of the potion with the foam that had bubbled up at the top, he dipped a small hand towel into the iron pot. Bringing out the scalding hot cloth, he let it steam off a couple of seconds, but only a couple. Rushing it into the kitchen where the patient lay, he took off the bandage on the slayer's right arm and laid the hot cloth on top. The black- haired one hissed in pain, but released a breath with almost surprise at the relieving sensation.  
  
Taking the reddened towel off for the stranger to see, the wound had lessened bleeding and looked remarkably close to stopping and healing completely. Considering he didn't even have to have stitches, the slayer was very surprised.  
  
"Thank you," he said wearily after a moment's silence, clutching the bottom of his right arm with his left hand, "My name is Wufei. I am forever indebted to you for saving my life."  
  
He looked over at Trowa, almost to ask if the taller young man had meant what he said before about the curse, and sending him away from this village as soon as possible. Of course, Wufei wasn't complaining. He didn't need to be here, anyway, it was a sidetrack, but still he felt obliged to stay a while and repay his rescuers for their trouble. However, if his rescuers wanted him to leave, who was he to begrudge them that? He would be meeting Heero soon enough. He wanted to know more about this demon the man named Trowa had spoken of. Wufei wasn't sure of anything about this 'anataton kakon', but he really had an eerie feeling that this demon was the one they were looking for.  
  
The demon had to die. That's what he had come here for. As soon as he found Heero, they would complete their mission. It was about time, too.  
  
*********************  
  
The mist shone across the water in a silver, moon-dipped cloud that adhered itself to the surface. The demon positioned one elbow on top of the nearest tombstone in waiting as he allowed his chin to rest on three knuckles that raised themselves to the opportunity. It wasn't so often he smiled to look out on the water like this. In this prison, looking like this usually only filled him with sadness. The demon looked away, hiding beneath a stray thicket of hair to let his expression drop quietly. A smile, in its own way, can be a prison, too.  
  
Prison is a punishment. However, the demon did not commit any crime. Did he? He was a demon . . . if that was a crime in itself, then he was a criminal. Sighing heavily and forcefully, almost to get his mind off the subject, the demon lifted his head. It really wasn't healthy thinking over what he did or didn't do for hundreds of years. His recollection at this point was probably completely askew by this time, so there really would be no use in trying to remember again. Or was there?  
  
The only thing he could take pleasure in remembering was that one face.  
  
He had been hoping, of course, that Heero could help him. It was too much to ask. Their meeting was just a fluke, anyway. If Heero had really loved him, then he still would, right? The demon closed his eyes softly, remembering that kiss . . . the last one, as the last breath of life had left his mortal body. Heero hadn't known he could still feel it. Even a hundred years later, it still danced on his lips, with more life then the demon . . . no . . . Duo had felt for the first time.  
  
That had been his name once. It only was because he had no other name to go by. Demons, unlike humans, are abandoned by their families upon birth. The thought being that if he was a strong demon, he would survive. The weak ones would obviously be preyed upon. It's how they kept making the demons grow stronger. It hastened the process of evolution. Twisted isn't it? The demon cocked his head in quiet experimentation, trying to think back far enough to remember his mother, but with no avail.  
  
The demon had been strong, and therefore had survived, but bitterly. He killed his predator, an older demon, and he could remember crying, softly, as he looked into the lifeless face of his opponent. Were demons supposed to cry? That's when they had found him. Crying, he had somehow taken human form with long, wild hair that could only be tamed back in a braid that he had become insanely proud of over his life. But the truth is he wasn't human. Did that mean he had deceived them? Yes . . . he thought guilty. . . he had deceived them all, and he might have forgiven them. He would have forgiven them for murdering him. He had deserved it, but he would never forgive them for what they did to Heero.  
  
Standing up with a dainty jump from his perch on one of the northern stones, the demon looked to the west, where the sun was setting.  
  
Walking towards the south part of the ring of standing stones, the demon walked forward, but only felt the same wall that was already there. He was impatient. As soon as the last bit of the sun had descended beneath the earth's horizon, his soul would be free to see Heero again. That's all he wanted.  
  
He could see the red glow that lingered just above the water that stretched from side to side of the river White, but he was too involved with the sunset, he didn't notice the figures that made their way to cross his bridge, until they stepped across to the other side. The fog cleared partly, and he saw a figure come through, and it looked like the figure held up a gun straight at him.  
  
The demon smirked. He looked like a good shot, but whoever it was who came to challenge him had really bad timing. He was about to be released from his prison for the night in his solid form. However, the demon's face softened immediately when he realized who exactly had come his way.  
  
"You're the demon, right?" Brown locks covered the man's eyes, blinded as were his motives, as he held the pistol up steadily in his right hand.  
  
The demon seemed so shaken under the barrel of a gun, or rather, the one holding it, that he didn't even notice the sun had gone down and he was in his solid form once more.  
  
It couldn't be. . . he said. . . he was. . . the kiss.  
  
Shadowed eyes took a step forward with his feet leading the way, the pistol never wavering. The demon winced. This wasn't the person he knew.  
  
"You're wrong!" the demon said defensively, "I never was a demon."  
  
"Then what are you?" the young man reminded him.  
  
The demon glared into the other's emotionless mission-driven eyes with what he an onlooker might have called love or hatred. The line was so thin between the two it was hard to tell as the demon changed his voice to an almost icy cold.  
  
"Leave."  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I intend to kill you." Heero said, but the demon looked deeper, watching as his face never flinched but his emotions were in turmoil.  
  
"Somehow I doubt that," the demon smirked, looking at the intruder's face more carefully, Heero just narrowed his eyes further. The demon could tell that it was from fear, and not the bad kind. Not fear of dying or being hurt. Heero feared something else, and the demon smiled.  
  
It was just like Heero to fear things unfamiliar to him . . . that meant especially emotions. The demon had been through all of this before. Heero was struggling with something, and his first response was to point a gun at the cause.  
  
The demon relaxed and stepped farther forward to the shorter young man until he was at gunpoint. Then, slowly, the demon, still smiling, put a hand on the other's cheek.  
  
Heero nearly dropped his gun, but fumbled a bit and caught it, stepping back instinctively, and turning heel.  
  
"I. . . This. . . I'll be back," Heero said, narrowing his eyes, "This mission. My mission. I'll kill you."  
  
Walking away, Heero never put away his gun, and the demon watched, amused, as his old love walked back across the bridge. Well, he was right about one thought . . . this was definitely far from over.  
  
________________________  
  
Thanks for Reading ^^  
  
Yay! All done with the third chapter! Phew. Did you know I stayed up until 2 am to write this?  
  
Special thanks to all my reviewers! Thank you so so much! I hope this chapter answered some questions, and I'm sure it opened up some new ones as well! Hope you enjoyed. 


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